The Problems with Emotional Attachment
by Diane LD
Summary: Anyone else remember season one? The episode 'Lonely Hearts.' Cue some funky techno music, and Kate searches Angel's apartment. What will she find? BA references.


THE PROBLEMS WITH EMOTIONAL ATTACHMENT

A/N- This is a really random piece I just wrote in like an hour. I was just thinking about the concept and the fic popped out.

Summary-Anyone else remember the first season? While searching his apartment in 'Lonely Hearts,' Kate finds some interesting things. And has a nice, self-flagellating time.

Read and Review, please. Maybe I write some more pieces from Kate's POV.

So it begins

**

I don't want to believe it's him. For some strange reason, I _really_ don't want to believe it was him. Maybe it was my self-flagellating-hypocrite-slut phase, but when I met him, he seemed genuine. Aside for the whole veterinarian thing. I knew that was a lie. But at places like D'Oblique, anonymity is the norm, so it didn't really phase me.

For whatever reason that is, I'm searching his place. I pull my gun out as I slink down the stairs, checking the corner as I open the door to the next room.

The apartment is definitely a man's place. Weapons adorn the walls, adding another check in the "creepy stalking murderer" column. I find myself making up excuses for him; "Maybe he's a collector." I don't know why. It goes against everything I was ever taught in the academy and detective training, but I still do it.

I open the refrigerator door, strangely finding it completely empty. Maybe he hasn't gone shopping yet this week… Okay, yes I know I'm pathetic. I really don't want to believe that Angel murdered that girl.

If my father could see me now. Trevor Lockley is a hard ass, lived by rules and protocol his entire life. If his offspring was caught showing… emotional attachment. He'd probably disown me.

I don't know why I'm acting this way. I really don't. I'm attracted to Angel, and let's face it, who wouldn't be? He gave me those 'big, puppy eyes' and 'I'm-not-good-with-talk speech' and I fell for it. Hook, line and sinker. I should have realized it for what it was, but under the haze of the bar and a few too many margaritas…

I'm supposed to meet him there tonight. Most of me is screaming, "No! Serial killer's trap!" but a small part of me is pleading against it, begging me to go and find out. 

I enter the bedroom, gun still out. I'm about to leave when I notice a box, halfway concealed by the bed. It arouses my suspicion, and although it's invasion of privacy, I open it. What the hell. I'm already here illegally. What's one more moral infraction on the increasingly large list?

A thin layer of dust surround the brown box and my fingerprints are left imprinted. Damnit! I forgot my gloves. Hopefully Angel doesn't routinely check his belongings for fingerprints. If he did, well, that's a little weird. I blow the dust off the box, creating a cloud that rises and settles a few feet away.

There are several books in the box, and I find myself disappointed. I thought the contents would be a little more exciting than books.

I open the first book, a book of Shakespearean sonnets. Hmm… Angel likes Shakespeare. Good to know. Maybe I could read it to him while he… Bad Kate! This is a serial murder case, I tell myself. Control is key. This case could be ruined because I can't control my hormones.

I turn the first page, and there's an inscription written in an elegant, loopy hand. "Happy Birthday Buffy! Love, A," it says. Who's Buffy?

I pick up the next book. It's a sketchbook, and the charcoal smudges underneath my finger's touch. Great. More evidence I was here. I look at the pictures, which, by the way, are quite good. Angel can draw really well. If he really is a private investigator, and not a serial murderer, he should consider giving it up and going into art. The guy has genuine talent. 

They're all of the same girl, I begin to realize. Every one is different, though, her expressions and clothing always different, but it's the same girl. Okay, this is a little stalker-ly, but can be easily explained, so it's not worrying me yet.

Angel's is a really good artist. His subject is beautiful, and the drawing is done with such emotion, I can actually visualize the expression. I dated an artist a while back. I met him on this one case with a corrupted art gallery. Whatever, that's not the point. The point is that, try and plead as I might, he would never draw me. He drew flowers and trees and pictures of his ex-wife, but never pictures of me. It kind of irked me, until he told me he only drew things or people he loved. Needless to say, that relationship didn't last very long.

Maybe Angel loved this girl at a time. Maybe he still loves this girl. The sketches continue, until I reach the last few pages and my eyes widen. The girl is naked in one, a sheet wrapped loosely around her body. It's not the nakedness that strikes me; it's the look on her face. Complete and utter contentment, even though it's obvious she's asleep. 

Okay, Angel was having sex with the girl. That explains the pictures. But there's jealousy burning in me from this girl, his…lover. Did she fall in love…lust… whatever, with him at first site too? I can't believe I even just considered that, the possibility of me being in love with him. Kate Lockley does not fall in love.

I don't think Kate Lockley _can_ fall in love. 

But that's another matter entirely. Let's not get into my gross emotional problems just yet. I'd like to avoid that as much as possible.

The last picture is titled. Two words, one at the bottom of the page and one at the top, with the picture of the girl in the center. The top word says 'Love.' The bottom simply says 'Buffy.'

Ahh... the infamous Buffy. That's who the book was for, that's Angel's lover, or former lover, or whatever. She doesn't look like she lives here with him, but that doesn't mean they're not still together. Then again, nowhere around here is there a place for a girlfriend. Girlfriends have spaces in closets. Girlfriends have drawers.

There is one more book in the box, a journal. I can't bring myself to open it. I know I'm here and already breaking the rules, but there's something fundamentally…wrong about reading someone else's journal. So I place in gently back in the box and am about to close when a flash of silver catches my eye.

I root around the box, looking for whatever it was until I find it. It's a silver chain; a silver ring hung on it. It's the girl's ring. It was on her hand in the pictures.

I put things back the way I found them, hoping he wont notice anything out of place. I check the closet one last time for a sign of a girlfriend. Nope. Nothing. Maybe Kate has a chance? Pfft. Maybe Kate should stop talking about herself in third person.

I think I'm going to go to the bar tonight. Nothing in his apartment screams 'murderer' and the office above lends some credence to the private investigations claim. And I have new information. Granted, it doesn't mean a lot, or anything, rather, but the information on his past love is certainly interesting. Maybe I'll ask him about her. Or no, I won't, because then he'd know I searched him illegally. So, damn, I can't really do anything with my new knowledge, except ponder it myself.

It's almost time. If I'm going to go, I have to leave now. 

Moment of truth. Should I stay or should I go? Should I continue quoting the Clash? I guess it's just a hazard of growing up in the eighties. "If I go there will be trouble, if I stay there will be double." They were very insightful. 

If I stay here and search some more, I run the risk of getting caught. If I go, I run the risk of being killed by a serial murderer.

Making my decision, I leave the apartment.

Hey, it's better to die in the line of duty than to have a tarnished record. Dear 'ol Dad taught me that. I drive quickly to the bar and wait. 

And wait.

***

"I think you should know I searched your place," the words tumble out of my mouth to Angel amid the flashing police lights. He looks startled. "Illegally, with out a warrant." The words just keep on coming. Will someone _please _shut me up?

"Why are you telling me this?" he asks, curiously. Good question. I'd be asking that. I would be, if I weren't such a big slut who can't control her hormones! Damn him! How does he do this to me? My entire life, it's pretty much been 'No emotional attachment, no emotional attachment, no emotional attachment' for everything. But he comes along and suddenly I'm the girl that needs rescuing. Wants a hero to sweep her off her feet. Damn him.

"I just think we should start fresh. No secrets," I tell him, making up a reason. Now that I think about it, that's actually a good reason. Way to go Kate! Improvisation at it's best.

He nods his head in agreement, and hands me a card. "If you every need me…" he says and walks away, his leather duster flaring in the wind. Damn that man is attractive. Damn, damn, damn! 

I look at the card. "Is this a lobster?" I question his retreating figure. I don't think my mouth is connected to my brain, because I find myself shouting to him. 

"Angel!" I call, and he turns around, questions in his eyes. He's 15 feet away, and this probably isn't the best time for this conversation, but I can't seem to control my words.

"Who's Buffy?" I say softly, and I'm surprised he can hear me over the noise of the crime scene. He can hear, I know he can. It's in his eyes. Too much pain for a person to have.

"A friend," he says, and if I didn't already know, I could tell he is lying. His voice cracks as he repeats more clearly. "A friend."

He walks away again, his mystery increasing even more because of his answer. Okay, that was stupid Kate. Bring up bad memories for him. Now you'll never have a chance with him! Ha. Like I ever did. 

Oh well. Life goes on. 

Yet another hot guy that Kate has lost.

**

A/N- Review! Sundevil009@yahoo.com


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